


The Kissing Booth

by fElBiTeR



Category: Alex Rider (TV 2020), Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Boys Kissing, Canon Compliant, Coming In Pants, Frottage, Heavy Petting, Humor, Kissing, Kissing Booths, Listen This Is Supposed To Lean More Toward Kind Of Romantic Instead Of Kinky, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Possessiveness, Semi-Public Sex, Sort Of Slight Sugar Daddy Thing Towards The End There, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25509136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fElBiTeR/pseuds/fElBiTeR
Summary: Alex’s school hosts a fair of sorts to help raise funds for an upcoming field trip. Alex is assigned to the kissing booth, however, as the day goes on, almost nobody approaches him. It obviously comes as quite a shock when he learns that a certain Russian assassin is behind his lack of customers.
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider
Comments: 31
Kudos: 195





	The Kissing Booth

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god, this spun wildly out of my control. it was supposed to be 500 words of something soft and fluffy... the yassen brainworms got to me,, fuck . and I blame ONE person for introducing this to my mind because I literally could not stop thinking about it all fucking day

Alex glances at the screen of his phone and groans in frustration, burying his face into the palms of his hands. He’s been sitting on a flimsy, uncomfortable fold-up chair for hours, waiting for anybody, anybody at all to approach his gaudily decorated booth.

It really isn’t that he’s desperate for someone to kiss him—in fact, he would rather that nobody kiss him at all—but he’ll end up being a laughingstock when his schoolmates learn that Alex was unable to earn a single pence while running the kissing booth.

Alex likes to think that he isn’t that bad looking, but as the hours pass on and the crowd begins to thin out toward the end of the evening, whatever little confidence he has takes a major blow, slowly chipped away as people just seem to hurry by his booth all day like they’re afraid he has several bombs on hand.

He groans again. At this rate, he’s going to have to dip into his personal funds, otherwise the night will end with pitying looks and snickers.

“Excuse me,” a voice says, and Alex immediately rises to his feet at the thought of finally getting a potential customer, but when he actually lays eyes on the owner of the voice, he feels something inside him curl up and die a little.

An ordinary man, Alex notes. An ordinary man with an ordinary haircut and an ordinary casual business attire.

And yet something inside of him is screaming in protest.

 _Oh_ , Alex thinks when he realizes that fifty-year-old men probably shouldn’t be interested in secondary school fair kissing booths.

“How much does it cost?” the man asks, a slow, almost lecherous grin crawling across his face. A jolt of disgust runs up Alex’s spine.

Alex stares at him, wondering whether or not he should just climb over the counter and run and abandon his post. He could probably outrun the other man, who doesn’t look anywhere as fit as Alex is.

But this is also the first customer he’s gotten all day. And he’s made no money. And he would really rather not dip into his personal savings.

“Fifty quid,” Alex slowly says, even though in reality it’s only five quid. He might as well charge more if he’s going to suffer for it.

 _It’s just a peck_ , he tells himself weakly, eyes closing to mentally prepare himself, blocking out the leer from his mind. He inhales, holds it in, and then exhales slowly.

When his eyes open again, the unsettling man is gone and standing where he once was is Yassen Gregorovich, gorgeous and lean and unfairly attractive.

" _You_...!” Alex says, half-shocked and half-wary. “What are you doing here?!”

“Am I not allowed to be?” Yassen inclines his head.

“Where did…?” Alex trails off, peering out the makeshift canopy tent for any sign of the creepy man. In reality, there are barely any people around anymore, the entire area near his tent void of life.

“He had better things to do than kissing a teenage boy,” Yassen says, his jaw visibly twitching in what seems to be agitation.

“... Okay?” Alex says confusedly, mostly to himself, thinking about the assassin’s arrival coinciding with the other man’s departure, Yassen’s complete lack of surprise at seeing Alex in a kissing booth, and the fact that Yassen is even in the same vicinity as Alex when he could literally be anywhere else in the world right now doing a job...

“Wait a second…!” Alex’s head snaps up to glower at Yassen when he finally connects the dots.

Yassen raises an eyebrow at him.

“Are you fucking serious?” Alex accuses the moment he locks eyes with the Russian assassin. “ _You’ve_ been the reason I've been making bugger-all the entire day?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Yassen says, shrugging, not even trying to hide the blatant lie, the corner of his lips twitching upward. “I was in the area.”

“You what,” says Alex.

“Hi, hello,” someone says. “Is this the kissing booth?”

The gaze Yassen turns on them is downright homicidal.

“Never mind, then,” they say hurriedly, scrambling to get away as fast as they can.

“See?!” Alex cries. “I’m supposed to be raising money. I can’t do that with you lurking around and glaring at my customers!”

“Maybe they should have assigned you to a different booth,” Yassen suggests, as if the mistake lies in Alex’s school’s booth assignments. As if this isn’t completely his fault in the first place. The arsehole. 

“You’ve got to make it up to me for scaring all my customers away,” Alex complains. “I’ve made _nothing_ all day.”

“I’m not made of money,” the assassin says. Alex wants to _throttle_ him.

“Yes, you _are_ ,” Alex argues, pursing his lips in annoyance. “Don’t think that I don’t know how much you make, and you’ve been doing this for years, so I bet you’re actually filthy rich. Now cough it up.” He extends his arm out, palm facing upwards in the universal symbol of ‘give me’.

Yassen stares at Alex’s outstretched hand, blinking slowly at it, making no indication of hearing what Alex has just said, but there’s no way he could have possibly misheard him. Then Yassen reaches into his right pocket, pulls out a plain, black wallet, and slips out a familiar red banknote.

Alex plucks the fifty quid from the assassin’s fingers and tucks it into a box behind the flimsy counter before Yassen can change his mind.

“So… are you here to kill someone or something?” Alex asks, suspicion lacing his tone as he quickly glances around again, wondering if there are any particularly rich or important people attending the fair as well.

“Not really. Unless you plan on making this an unfair transaction…” Yassen trails off, allowing Alex to fill in the blank spaces himself 

“Unfair transa—” Alex chokes in realization, a horrible strangled noise, cutting himself off. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Yassen says, looking very solemn.

Alex takes a long and hard look at the fifty quid he just tucked away, contemplating the implications of accepting it.

“Fine,” Alex blurts, after a long pause. “Fucking fine.” And then he realizes that Yassen has the slightest smile on his face and a hint of amusement at Alex's gullibility. He’s joking about the killing. Of course he is.

Contrary to the disgust Alex felt earlier, butterflies are currently swarming in droves in his stomach, fluttering and swooping, to his horror, in what feels like anticipation.

Alex nervously wrings his fingers together and takes one final glance outside the tent. No one in sight.

He sighs, then shouts in surprise when Yassen skillfully jumps over the table dividing the inside of the booth from the rest of the outside world in one quick movement.

“Easier this way,” Yassen explains, immediately closing the proximity between them. Alex takes an instinctive step back at the invasion of space, only for his ankle to hit a cold leg of the foldable chair behind him as Yassen crowds him further.

“Careful,” Alex says weakly. “Your enthusiasm is showing.”

“Is it?” Yassen replies, flagrantly staring down at Alex’s lips, not denying his words.

“Don’t you also have better things to do than kissing a teenage boy?” Alex whispers with a tinge of insecurity, nearly inaudible if not for the fact that the assassin is standing way too close for comfort.

“Not really,” Yassen says, gently reaching forward to cup Alex’s cheeks, framing his face in between his hands. The assassin’s fingers are warm and calloused, from him constantly handling guns, probably. “Not if it’s you, little Alex.” 

Alex’s heart does a funny little twist in his chest at that, but he hides it with a hard swallow. Yassen’s eyes follow the bob of his Adam’s apple. Alex stares at Yassen. Yassen stares right back at him. Neither of them move. 

Yassen gives Alex a very patient look, almost like he’s waiting for Alex to be the one to make the first move—

Alex can feel the exact moment that his face morphs into an embarrassed scowl. That’s exactly what Yassen is doing. Well, two can play at that game.

Alex leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Yassen’s lips, pulling away with a cheeky grin. “Will that be all?”

“How very sweet of you,” Yassen says dryly.

“Thank you,” Alex responds, an insolent smile playing on his lips, peering up at the assassin from under his eyelashes.

“Alex,” Yassen cautions, a hint of impatience in his eyes.

“One kiss,” Alex says, “Fifty quid.” He waits with a bated breath, feeling a warmth beginning to flush on his neck at his own boldness.

Yassen narrows his eyes at him. And then he takes his wallet out again, unfolding another red banknote. 

Alex internally cheers, gleeful and exuberant. It actually worked. He reaches for the banknote, but Yassen snatches his hand away at the last minute. 

“Properly, this time,” Yassen advises. Alex deflates. Damn it. The assassin puts the money into one of Alex’s few pockets, pressing even closer to him.

Alex leans in, fully prepared to pull the same trick again, but Yassen’s fingers curl around the base of his neck and he takes control of the kiss before Alex has the chance to quickly back away. Yassen slots their lips together and Alex’s eyes slide shut to avoid the assassin’s intense gaze on his face as a warm, wet pressure slides roughly against his lips, moving slowly, sensually, pleasurable and enticing and forceful all at the same time. All Alex can do is try his best to follow along as his knees go weak and wobbly from the heat beginning to pool low in his belly, unable to pull away willingly on his own.

The other man pulls back and Alex gasps at the sudden loss of warmth against his lips. He fights down a whine when his eyes flutter open to Yassen’s sharp staring, his mask of indifference slipping into one of a visible hunger.

“Fifty quid?” Yassen says, not really asking.

“Fifty quid,” Alex rasps. There’s a quick flash of red in Yassen’s fingers and then the warmth returns to his mouth and stays there for seconds, minutes, hours, until he can’t really breathe anymore and Yassen is swallowing down all of Alex’s incomprehensible noises, wet and hungrily mouthing at his lips until Alex seriously goes bright red in the face from both the snogging and the lack of oxygen. Yassen gives him a soft, lazy swipe of his tongue to finish the kiss. Alex doesn’t suppress the soft sigh that comes tumbling out of his mouth when the other man considerately gives him time to catch his breath.

“Again,” Yassen all but demands, slipping another fifty-pound banknote somewhere into Alex’s clothes. Alex hastily complies, kissing him deeply, desperately, and messily, like the other man is a cool oasis in a dusty, barren wasteland. 

This time when Yassen pulls away, Alex is breathless and panting, very sure that the flush previously creeping up his neck has become a full-fledged blush, high on his cheeks. His legs feel like jelly, very close to becoming useless. He’s also vaguely aware that the sky has begun to darken, the dipping sun casting long shadows inside the tent. Dazed, he barely notices when Yassen takes a seat on the foldable chair.

“Wha…?” Alex stares confusedly at the assassin. Yassen pats his thigh twice, an invitation for Alex to— _oh._ A flaming sensation spreads across his face.

Yassen takes the initiative at his lack of reaction, fingers wrapping around Alex’s wrists and pulling him onto his lap until Alex’s legs are draped on either side of the assassin, practically straddling him with no space in between them and no room for shyness. 

“Fifty q—mmph…!” Something is tucked into his shirt as Yassen resumes kissing him silly, nudging his tongue lightly against Alex’s lower lip and licking over it enticingly before latching onto it and suckling softly, producing a punched out moan from Alex that’s quickly eaten up before the noise ever even has the chance to leave his mouth. Alex feels hot under his skin and cold in his extremities, buzzing and tingling with a heavy arousal as the kiss electrifies his lips and spreads throughout his body, out to his fingertips and down to his toes.

His heart hammers wildly against his rib cage when he feels Yassen’s tongue slide against the seam of his lips, but Alex, not one to concede easily, stubbornly refuses to grant the assassin access. A possessive hand runs over the curve of his backside, then moving lower, Yassen palms somewhere suspiciously close to Alex’s arse. Predictably, Alex yelps and Yassen takes the opportunity to slip in, and suddenly there’s a soft invasive slide of hot tongue into Alex’s mouth. A muffled keen escapes his mouth at the sensation, along with the persistent caress of Yassen’s fingers on the divots of his hips, at some point sneaking under Alex’s clothing to press against his bare skin.

Alex shudders violently when Yassen licks the roof of his mouth and he suddenly becomes aware of a hard line against his inner thigh that definitely isn’t a gun. His breath hitches involuntarily, and Yassen backs away for the fourth time that night.

“Don’t say it,” Yassen warns.

Alex grins, a thrill shooting up his spine at the look the assassin is giving him. “Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just—” He’s cut off by himself when Yassen reaches in between them and presses the heel of his palm against Alex’s growing erection. He lets out an embarrassingly loud groan in response.

“You were saying?” There’s mirth in Yassen’s eyes and scattered laughter in his tone. Alex averts his gaze, flushing warmly.

“It’s late, we’re in public, we shouldn’t—” Alex stammers, and then Yassen rolls his hips upwards and grinds their hard-ons together and every single coherent thought Alex has ever had abruptly drops to the ground and shatters to pieces like brittle glass at the jolt of burning pleasure that zips up his spine.

 _Do it again,_ Alex almost pleads, but he has a little bit more pride than that. He dimly notices the assassin hastily stuffing another crumpled banknote into Alex’s pocket before biting down on his lower lip, hard, and Alex opens his mouth instantly this time, letting Yassen lick into his mouth with abandon. Alex’s hands position themselves on the other man’s shoulders to brace himself as he shifts around on Yassen’s lap until he feels their bodies lining up, and then Alex jerks his hips downwards, grinding their cocks together through layers of clothing. Yassen suddenly swears in Russian, something low and dirty and right up against Alex’s swollen red lips. A guttural moan spills from Alex’s throat at the thought that he can affect the other man this much, and he grinds down again, hot and messy and perfect, relishing the feel of Yassen’s grip tightening around his waist, warm and heavy. 

Alex swears to god he could come right now, but Yassen holds Alex’s hips in place to prevent them from moving anymore. He groans in annoyance and reaches down to relieve the pressure between his legs, but Yassen grabs his hands and looks straight into Alex’s eyes, his accented voice thick with arousal, ordering, “You will come like this, or not at all.” He punctuates his point with a quick, hard thrust, and fine, _fuck_ , Alex gets it, relocating his hands to wrap around the assassin’s neck.

Yassen pointedly goes to Alex’s mouth again for another kiss.

 _He didn’t even pay_ , Alex notes hysterically in a passing thought that’s quickly shoved out of his mind when Yassen’s tongue begins slowly sliding and stroking into Alex’s mouth in a pleasurable back and forth motion, the rhythm an obscene mimicry of something else much more explicit. Alex can do nothing but ride out the unrelenting hot flicker of a tongue against his own.

Alex arches his back when Yassen takes control of the pace, thrusting against him harder, faster, all while Alex’s hips stutter forward to meet him halfway, outside of his control, bucking against the other man. Tiny whimpers begin to tumble from his throat when his body begins to tense around his impending orgasm, his balls drawing tight and his cock starting to throb.

All it takes is a few more precise thrusts, the feeling of his dick being trapped between their hard stomachs, and the sensation of Yassen practically fucking into Alex’s mouth with his tongue, deep and wet and hot, and suddenly it doesn’t matter that he’s still in public or grinding shamelessly against the man below him because he abruptly comes all over the inside of his trousers, messily smearing his underwear, his eyes rolling back as pleasure pulses through him and a blinding white overtakes his vision, and all the while Yassen is right there, swallowing up all of Alex’s noises, his strangled mewls and soft but desperate _ah, ah, ah_ s and hoarse cries all muffled by the assassin’s insistent mouth over his. Alex’s hips roll forward weakly one more time, his spent cock twitching as he’s left feeling blissed out and dazed and faintly aware that Yassen came, too.

Somewhere in his peripheral senses, Alex can hear ragged, uncontrolled breathing coming from Yassen, which logically means that their mouths separated at some point.

Alex releases a shaky breath and stares down at his trousers, and yep, there’s an incriminating wet spot right there in the front matching the rapidly cooling come in his underwear. There’s no way that he’s returning to school like this, which means that he’s probably going to have to visit a nearby thrift shop or something while avoiding any wandering scrutinizing eyes.

A light touch against his forehead snaps him out of his reverie, and it’s Yassen, brushing a stray strand of hair out of Alex’s face before he brings their lips together for a final slow, languid kiss, one that reaches down into Alex's chest and squeezes his heart like a fist.

Alex’s post-orgasmic glow quickly fades. And then the full impact of what they’ve just done hits him like a truck.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Alex groans, clenching his eyes shut momentarily before he glares at the assassin. He probably doesn’t look very intimidating, still straddling the other man, his hair tousled and messy and his lips shiny and slicked wet with spit.

Yassen actually has to gall to look quite pleased with himself after giving Alex a thorough once-over.

“You owe me money,” Alex complains, sulky, not feeling up for moving at all. The assassin reaches for his wallet a final time and then straight up drops it into the box in the tent designated for collecting funds.

“No more kissing booths,” Yassen says. Alex gives him an exasperated look. “If you need money, I will give it to you.” 

“What if I suddenly needed ten-thousand pounds out of nowhere?” Alex asks, tilting his head curiously.

“I will give it to you,” Yassen repeats firmly, one of his thumbs caressing the outer corner of Alex’s plush lips. Alex shivers at the thrum of pleasure that goes through his body at Yassen’s words, even after all that. _Fuck_ , he thinks, his heart beating traitorously fast.

“Okay,” Alex says blankly even though his soul is singing with an unnamed emotion, and then leans in for another kiss.

Yassen smiles knowingly against Alex's lips.

**Author's Note:**

> you can imagine this one in tv-verse or book-verse, but let me know if you enjoyed!<3
> 
> me: *has never kissed anyone before*  
> also me: *writes 2000 words of idiots kissing*
> 
> edit: PLEASEFFHSH I DIDNT WRITE THIS WITH THE CONCEPT OF PROSTITUTION IN MIND AT ALL IM FUCKING DYINGGDHKSSK


End file.
